


Surface Tension

by NohrianScum (OrderOfRevan)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Murder, Human Experimentation, M/M, Patricide, Roughly Inspired by the Shape of Water, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 22:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15447738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrderOfRevan/pseuds/NohrianScum
Summary: Ryoma, janitor at the Blackwater Aquarium, discovers a secret he shouldn't have.





	1. M4RX

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1/3. 
> 
> Explicit stuff begins in future chapters.

The night he’d met The Creature, Ryoma had stumbled into a room he’d never cleaned before, a room that was oddly well maintained, except for a single corner tank in the dimly lit laboratory. He’d figured it was some kind of veterinary containment area, at first, though for fish… Until something inside the tank moved, a writhing mass of dark black tentacles, gold flecks sparkling along the length of the dark skin.

He’d been around aquatic animals enough that he thought it was a cephalopod at first, maybe a new species, but then he got closer and saw the shape of well defined arms from within the churning tentacles… Human arms.

Human arms accompanied by a pair of too-intelligent eyes that glowed like magenta spotlights in the darkness.

It took him a moment to process the sight, but when he did, the mop he was holding clattered against the floor and hit his foot so hard that he let out a string of expletives … A string that made the wary eyes glow with a kind of amusement.

An amusement that made Ryoma freeze in place.

“You’re laughing at me,” he accused, not really sure why he was speaking…

At least until the shape shifted and the silhouette of arms and glowing eyes were joined by a human torso, pale and well muscled, attached to both the octopus-like tentacles and a very human head. Ryoma’s breath caught halfway in his throat, flowing hair that caught the lights in the tank seemed to glow silver in the water, the face handsome, gills flaring at the side of his neck where pale skin turned black again. Gold glittered across every inch of him, caught like starlight in an inky sky underneath the intense beams of the tank lights, large hands pressing up against the glass.

Ryoma, curious and perhaps feeling a bit stupid, left his mop where it had fallen and took a step closer. One step at a time, he crept towards the shape, the features on the not-quite-man’s face growing clearer as he neared, handsome, aside from the strange glowing spotlight eyes and the cephalopod features that comprised his lower half. He had a strong jaw, a straight, well-defined nose, and oddly soft lips, all set underneath the most intense pair of eyebrows Ryoma had ever seen, furrowed into a perpetual grimace.

As his would be, too, if he were stuck in a place so small.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” Ryoma asked, watching the way the not-quite-man’s eyes stared at his lips, realizing when The Creature nodded that it was reading them like his little brother read the morning paper.

Breath hitching, he pressed his hand up against the glass opposite The Creature’s hand, and even though it shouldn’t feel warm… It did. The almost man was very much real, not animatronic or the result of a bad beef bowl and sake induced hallucination, but really and genuinely there.

Trapped in a tank in the back of the Blackwater Aquarium and Institute for the Preservation of Aquatic Life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ryoma asked, watching those brows somehow forrow further. “You shouldn’t be here. This can’t…”

He reached up, tugging at the strands of his own wild, dark hair.

“This can’t be ethical.”

A wry smile pulled across those lips, a tinge of bitterness flashing across fine features, as aged as vintage wine and tinged with an undercurrent of sadness. The Creature shrugged, slowly sinking to the bottom of the holding tank where it lounged against the ground, resting that head of still-flowing blonde hair on too-human arms.

He could feel the “of course not” lingering in the air between them, followed by a “does it really matter? It’s happening anyway.”

And Ryoma guessed that was true.

Here he was, faced with an intelligent cephalopod of a dubious and possibly endothermic nature in a secret room in the Blackwater, suddenly burdened with the knowledge that he shouldn’t be seeing this.

Garon was going to kill him.

But he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“You’ll be here tomorrow, still?” Ryoma asked, drumming his fingers against his thigh as he reached down and grasped the handle of his mop with one hand.

Bubbles trailed through the water as The Creature snorted.

It had been a stupid question anyway.

“Would you… Like me to come back?”

Desperation flashed in the depth of spotlight eyes, but there was no other real response. The Creature seemed lethargic, and Ryoma guessed that he would, too, trapped in this tiny tank with no one to keep him company day after day. Too intelligent to be a normal species of … anything, but not human, and with lonely eyes..

“I’ll come back,” Ryoma promised, The Creature rising once more to slowly turn away from him, facing the wall, leaving Ryoma’s words to fall on deaf ears.

Still, he meant it.

He would come back.

And he would try to bring a way for them to communicate.

**< >< ooo ><>**

A week later, he discovered the tapes.

Unobtrusive things, black and white, perfect for the vhs in the little lab, as Ryoma had come to call it. On each tape was a different movie -- first of a woman with bright blonde hair and a little boy with hair just like hers. Ryoma watched, not really that interested in them outside of The Creature’s reaction, withdrawing to the farthest edges of the tank and curling up, head resting on his arms, a look of melancholy on his face… Though honestly “forlorn” might have been a better word.

When he got to the fifth tape, he realized why.

The boy, a bit older, being injected with something glowing magenta.

A little boy with webbed fingers.

A little boy whose skin started to sparkle in the bright light.

A preteen in a wheelchair with a blanket over his lap.

A preteen opening his mouth for a dental exam as familiar fingers prodded his now pointed teeth.

A teenager, writhing and gasping for breath on the ground, legs fused together, the edges like frayed rope made of black flesh.

A teenager in a tank of water, trying to stay upright with terrified eyes.

A young man with fingers splayed over his gills from inside of the tank and an impassive expression on his face.

A young man sitting in the corner of the tank, all evidence that he had ever been human lost in the twisting mass of black tentacles that surrounded him.

And then Garon, detailing the process on screen, talking about the subject by name, at first --

Xander. Xander. Xander.

And then by identification code.

M4RX.

M4RX.

M4RX.

It was the name that stuck out to Ryoma the most.

Everyone remembered the stories.

Takumi was good friends with Leo and Camilla Blackwater, and every year they’d go out drinking and talk about it. Every year, they’d invite Takumi for the “company and comfort”, as they’d always say. Every year, Camilla would go off with someone -- man or woman, it never seemed to matter -- and every year, Leo would drunkenly tell the same story.

Xander Blackwater, brilliant, hardworking student, gone missing at 23 years old. A man disadvantaged at an early age when he’d lost his biological mother, who helped shaped the lives of his siblings, who was a better father than Garon Blackwater had ever been. A man who had overcome disability in order to make a name for himself independent of his father’s fame as a marine biologist.

A man who had been missing for seven long years.

The Creature had a name.

But it was impossible.

Or it should be, Ryoma thought, turning around from the static that played across the old TV screen to look at the being in question. Right now, it stared at him with its -- his -- luminous eyes, eyes filled with so much pain that Ryoma could only sympathize by imagining what it had felt like when his father had been taken from him at a young age.

The kind of loss you can never recover from.

“Xander,” he muttered, watching the bubbles fly from that mouth again in a derisive snort as he moved back towards the glass and traced his fingers against it in the shape of letters.

M, Ryoma watched, his throat growing tight.

A, came the next letter, the sound of the clock on the wall so loud that Ryoma could hear nothing else other than the sound of his own breathing.

R, and Ryoma knew exactly where this was going as he took a step towards the glass.

X, the man finished, palm splayed against the glass once more, head bowed as he stared past Ryoma, through the gaps of his fingers.

“Marx,” Ryoma said, and received a nod for his efforts.

Marx, a name reclaimed from the experiment that had taken him from everyone he ever loved and all the people who grieved him.

Placing his hand against the glass, Ryoma sank slowly to the ground, pressing his cheek against the cool surface, his eyes drifting closed as he tried to imagine a more cruel outcome.

He only came up blank.

**< >< ooo ><>**

“Elise will be graduating high school soon,” Ryoma said, sitting across from the tank, peeling an orange. “She’s not quite a straight A student, but she’s kind and everyone likes her. Leo’s going to school for something to do with his love of plants and looks like he’ll eventually continue down that path and get a PhD. Camilla’s happy, too -- Started up her own business. Tried to use my brother to prove her cosmetics look good on anyone and how well the colors blend.”

A wistful smile crossed over Marx’s pale features, the familiar shape of him spread along the bottom of the tank. His head rested in the cradle of his arms, a finger tracing shapes on the bottom of the tank, luminous eyes intent on staring at Ryoma’s lips as he spoke.

“They’ve been good to our family in the time we’ve known them,” Ryoma went on, tossing the peels on the floor looking down at the bright fruit and feeling… sad. His eyes flickered back up towards Marx, who was still watching him, expression bizarrely soft. “You can’t eat things like this anymore, can you?”

Marx shook his head and slowly rose, drawing the shape of a fish against the glass with his index finger, Ryoma’s eyes tracing the movement. Glancing to the bag he’d brought with him, he reached inside and pulled out a lunch box, carefully unwrapping the cold cuts of raw salmon he’d bought from the fish place near his house.

Standing, he walked towards the side of the tank, hesitated, and then climbed the small stairway to the top, the water there reflecting the light of the dimly flickering fluorescents above.  Below the gently rippling surface, Ryoma watched as a dark shape rose, and slowly a head emerged from that water, breaking the surface.

Gills sealed tight, turning his neck a pale and black expansion of flesh, eyes still glowing and bright even beyond the confines of the water, ringlets of wet, blonde hair clinging to Marx’s prominent cheekbones and making then stand out all the more. Slowly, cautiously, he approached the side of the tank, a soft gasp as he looked at the fish in Ryoma’s hands, eyes darting between it and him… As if he didn’t quite believe this was happening, his lip quivering in what might have been amusement as he gingerly reached out and cupped the underside of Ryoma’s hands, still holding the fish in its white wrapping paper.

Marx slowly tugged at one of his hands, the fish falling with a heavy splash into the water below as it toppled from his hands, his skin shockingly warm against Ryoma’s. With one hand, Marx gently held Ryoma’s wrist so that his hand extended towards him, palm up, and with the index finger of the other he began to gently trace letters against Ryoma’s skin.

The motions tickled, and to Ryoma’s great surprise, they felt oddly intimate, soft brushes of flesh against flesh, a whisper that only Ryoma could hear.

THANK YOU.

Came the first words, accompanied by a small smile that eased the furrow between those brows ever so slightly.

MAY I LEARN THE NAME OF --

A pause, a thoughtful expression flickering across Marx’s truly handsome face as he deliberated something, perhaps wording. Ryoma could only watch, recognizing already the flick of tongue from between slightly parted lips that he’d seen before these past few weeks any time Ryoma asked a question and Marx had had to think about the answer.

\-- OF MY ONLY FRIEND?

Marx decided at last, the word ‘friend’ stirring something warm inside of Ryoma’s chest.

“Ryoma,” he muttered, watching the way Marx’s eyes lit up in surprise at the sound of his voice, curious fingers reaching out to trace over lips before quickly withdrawing, pink dusting pale cheeks.

Marx opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a sharp exhalation of breath, one that knit his brows closer together over those strangely expressive eyes. Frustration at having his voice stolen from him, no doubt, robbed from him for some reason Ryoma couldn’t claim to understand in the slightest.

Had Garon done this for any reason at all?

“--Takumi, my brother, he remembered Leo saying something about you liking salmon so I thought--”

Ryoma began, cut off by the press of fingers firm against his lips as Marx shook his head. Fingers returned to his palm, tracing more tickling letters over Ryoma’s skin, thumb brushing over Ryoma’s wrist thoughtfully and almost fondly as Marx spoke the only way left to him.

I ENJOY SALMON. I’M SO SICK OF TUNA I SCARCELY TASTE IT ANYMORE. THIS IS BETTER THAN I’VE HAD IN YEARS.

He paused again, considering something, before quickly adding three more words in a rush of frenzied strokes.

YOU’RE VERY KIND.

“Thank you,” Ryoma managed, earning himself a bit of a smile.

Marx nodded, and then released him, slowly sinking back underneath the water in that too-small tank, Ryoma’s heart aching to help him but not knowing if he could.

**< >< ooo ><>**

Marx seemed surprised when Ryoma began stripping down in front of him, dropping his uniform to reveal swim trunks underneath the janitorial greys and utilitarian work pants. The look on his face was endearingly shocked, widening the smile on Ryoma’s lips as he pulled off his rubber-soled work boots and socks, tossing them aside to climb the cold metal stairway towards the top of the tank.

Ryoma knew it would be cold, of course, because that’s always how water felt to him, but it still startled him when he flung his legs over the side and plunged them into the tank. Already, he could see the dark shape shooting towards the surface as it had countless times before during their little visits… Something Ryoma doubted he’d be able to get away with for much longer, with Garon returning from Europe next week.

Still, Ryoma wanted to give Marx at least this much, taking a deep breath as he slipped completely into the water… surprised that he didn’t taste the familiar sting of salt. So Marx was a freshwater creature? The thought was shocking enough that he was distracted, tensing when he felt two hands reach out to steady his shoulders.

His eyes snapped up, Marx right in front of him, wet fingers grasping at Ryoma’s skin as if he couldn’t fully believe this was real. For a moment they just floated there, face to face, before Marx’s finger slowly traced over Ryoma’s skin, spelling letters that left a smile on Ryoma’s lips.

YOU’RE WARM.

The first words said, one of Marx;s hands still settled on Ryoma’s shoulder.

IT’S BEEN TOO LONG. I’D FORGOTTEN HOW WARM SKIN WAS.

Marx’s arm crept slowly around Ryoma, encircling his shoulder, gently guiding him closer until they were pressed chest to chest. Underneath the water, Ryoma could feel the soft undulations of Marx’s tentacles as they kept the pair afloat, glad to indulge a man who he was sure was touch starved in every sense of the word. Carefully, he wrapped his own arm around Marx’s shoulder, watching the man’s face and finding no sign of objection.

AN EMBRACE, traced a finger along his back. YOU WOULD BE CLOSE TO A MONSTER?

“You’re not a monster,” Ryoma muttered emphatically, breath hitching a bit as Marx turned his head to avert his eyes and their noses brushed together.

YES, I AM.

The words came in frenzied, self-deprecating strokes of finger against flesh, accompanied by a deeply furrowed brow.

HOW CAN YOU STAND IT?

“You’re good conversation,” Ryoma said with a smile, pausing as he considered his next words, letting them come out of his mouth in a confused jumble, “and you’re very handsome. I don’t know who wouldn’t be charmed by you.”

He heard the intake of breath, felt some of the tentacles underneath the water freeze for a moment, Ryoma letting his hand slip lower to press against the skin of Marx’s back. Marx tensed against him for a moment, though it was only a moment, his own hand tracing lower as it brushed down over Ryoma’s side, then back up again, a steady stroke of fingertips against flesh.

The sensation was a distracting one, distracting enough that Ryoma didn’t notice he was being backed up until his back hit the cool glass on the opposite side of the tank from the ladder.

CHARMING? Marx asked, tracing the word across Ryoma’s chest. THAT’S CERTAINLY --

A pause, full lips parting, finger stuttering and skidding along Ryoma’s skin when Ryoma cut him off by leaning forward and claiming a kiss.

They didn’t stop.

Ryoma’s back pressed more tightly against the glass as Marx kissed back, his arms winding fully around Ryoma’s neck, his fingers tangling in Ryoma’s hair and getting it even more wet than it already was. He didn’t mind, especially when Marx let him run his hands down his sides and reach even further down to where the texture of skin turned to something softer, almost velvety to the touch.

He wasn’t surprised when one of the tentacles wrapped around his ankle, and not surprised at all that Marx had full control over them.

YOU CONTINUE TO SURPRISE ME.

“You feel good,” he whispered quietly against Marx’s lips. “You’re warm and… strong. I like being with you.”

Shock flickered across Marx’s handsome face, pink dusting his cheeks and ears before he smiled and pressed a feather light kiss against Ryoma’s forehead, then the tip of his nose, and then finally his lips. His fingers traced a warm path over Ryoma’s skin, making him shiver and burying his face in the juncture between Marx’s neck and shoulders.

I LIKE YOU TOO.

The words burned against his soft skin for the rest of the night.


	2. "Ryoma"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the first fish shaped break point, there's some nsfw stuff.

“Father is thinking of laying people off,” Camilla told him over drinks, the words churning his stomach and making his throat grow tight. “I’m afraid that your job might be at risk.” 

“So that’s why you asked me out here?” Ryoma asked, staring into the glass and trying not to think about Marx and the room and the way those luminous eyes would turn bright every time he entered the room. “You think my job is at risk.”

“I know it’s at risk,” she said matter-o-factly, and he wondered if this was only some kind of weird courtesy to Takumi, if she knew how hard it had been for him growing up and trying to provide for his siblings. 

“So what do you expect me to do?” Ryoma asked, his grip on the glass tightening before something occurred to him -- something that might get her on his side, something that could protect Marx. 

So instead of letting her answer, he held up his hand, slammed a twenty on the counter, and then began to walk away. He could hear her heels on the tiles behind him, her stride quick as she caught up with him, staring at him with furrowed brows that reminded him of her brother. 

Stomach twisting into knots, Ryoma took a deep breath and then reached into his pocket, holding out the Aquarium’s master key. 

“I have something I need to show you,” he said, “but you can’t tell your Father.”

Camila’s eyes went wide, and for a brief moment anger flashed through her features, but it quickly vanished. Instead, she simply stared at him for a moment longer, wringing her hands together, before she nodded.

Later, he’d wonder what it was about his expression that had convinced her to follow him… 

But at the time, it didn’t matter. 

It didn’t take long for them to get back to the Blackwater, even though Ryoma’s hands shook as he unlocked the doors after hours. Everything about the place seemed so quiet when no one else was here… The fish staring back at him, their lives going on regardless of what their caretakers did, just as they would continue to go on if they were suddenly released into the wild. 

“Mr. Sumeragi--” Camilla began as he lead her through the Employee’s Only door and into the supply closet, where the door that he’d once been told lead to extra, unused storage was. 

Ryoma silenced her with a look, and shook his head, smiling a bit. 

“It’s Ryoma,” he said, and then opened the door, watching her eyes widen as she found herself confronted with a staircase.

It clearly wasn’t what she had been expecting, if the way her eyes narrowed in suspicion was any indication. 

Ryoma saw what Takumi saw in her when those same eyes sparked with determination and she took the lead, taking the stairs as quickly as her long legs would carry her. She was so impatient that she didn’t even wait for Ryoma to close the access door behind them, unlocking the second door at the bottom of the stairs with her own master key. 

He wondered if she felt the same about the musty, watery scent as he had the first time. 

If she felt confusion, or if her experience with her father just made her feel worry instead. 

Looking back on it, that’s what Ryoma should have felt, too… 

But he couldn’t have known any better. 

Now he did. 

“This…” Camilla breathed as she stepped into the room, not yet aware of the shape in the tank, her eyes instead darting across all the lab equipment in the corner and the old television cart and the tapes stacked there.  

Finally, they found the tank, gently illuminated, the shape in it already unfurling. Long, black tentacles stretched, leaving Ryoma to wonder if Marx had been napping again, the dark shape turning around to face them both fully as Camilla took disbelieving half steps towards the glass. 

He could hear her breath hitch, saw her eyes wide with disbelief and sparkling with tears, but it was nothing compared to the look on Marx’s face… Tender, even with his brow still furrowed, as he drifted slowly towards her and placed his hand against the side of his tank, his gaze only for her in that moment. 

“Xander?” Camilla asked, voice trembling, her arms wrapping around her own torso as if to hold herself together. “Big… Big brother?”

Marx smiled gently and then nodded, tracing those four familiar letters against the glass, his fingers flexing as if he could pass through the surface to embrace her. Ryoma watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and wondered if Marx would cry if he still had the ability. 

“What…” Camilla began, forced to swallow when the words wouldn’t come out right, rage seeping into every syllable when she finally found her voice. ”What … What did he do to you? Why…?” 

Marx just shook his head and shrugged helplessly, pressing his forehead against the glass. 

For a moment, Ryoma watched frustration flicker across his features, broken only by surprise as Camilla slipped out of her heels and then started to strip out of her clothing. The set of her jaw was determined, angry, business suit piled unceremoniously on the floor as she stood in nothing more than a pair of lacy panties and a bra. 

Briefly, she looked back towards Ryoma, but she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she just turned her face back towards the tank and then climbed the ladder to the edge, slipping into the water without any fear or hesitation. 

Before Ryoma could even register what had happened, Marx’s arms were wrapped around her. 

At his touch the well inside of her seemed to break and the sound of her sobs filled the room, choked apologies followed with threats of the violence she would visit upon their father for this. Ryoma couldn’t look, had to turn away, didn’t want to bother them right now when it had been seven years since they had seen each other… Seven long, miserable, years in which Marx had waited here alone while his siblings moved on with their lives as best they could in spite of the grief. 

If he couldn’t see Hinoka, Takumi, or Sakura again, what would he do?

Could he even keep going on? 

“Ryoma.”

Camilla’s voice snapped him back to reality, and he spun around, watching as the woman swung her legs back over the water and perched on the edge of the tank. Immediately, he reached down to where he’d started storing the towels he’d brought from home, walking over to the ladder to hand her one, her smile still somehow heartbreaking. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, Marx watching the both of them through the glass. “For this. For … All of it.”

She took a deep breath, and then walked towards her purse on the floor, quickly pulling out her phone. Casting a look over her shoulder at Marx, she looked back to Ryoma one last time and then smiled again, “I’m going to call Leo and Elise. Stay… Stay with him for me?” 

Ryoma nodded, and she smiled at him, walking back out into the hallway, leaving Marx and Ryoma alone. 

A tap on the glass drew his attention back to Marx, who was smiling at him in a manner so gentle that it broke Ryoma’s heart. A single hand pressed against the side of the tank, and Ryoma placed his hand over it, only the glass separating them, Marx’s warmth seeping into his skin as he pressed his forehead to the cool surface. 

Until he heard Camilla’s footsteps returning, they stayed like that, the fluorescent lights above seeming to hum ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ for a man who could no longer speak the words himself. 

In that moment, Ryoma knew he would have done anything in his power to give Marx his voice back. 

 

**< >< ooo ><>**

 

They were alone again that night for the first time in weeks, Marx’s wet fingers slowly carding through Ryoma’s hair as Ryoma reclined in his strong arms. Neither of them said anything, but at this point conversation wasn’t really necessary, not when one of Marx’s tentacles slowly stroked Ryoma’s thigh and sent flutters of heat through his stomach. 

Not when they had gone back and forth on this very topic several times in the past. 

Lips found the side of Ryoma’s neck, sharp teeth teasing the skin there, so gentle that every exhale tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. A velvet soft tentacle trailed slowly up his body, brushing over his stomach, and Ryoma’s hold on his patient lover tightened, breath hitching as it traveled higher and then slowly, almost lazily, flicked across a nipple. Ryoma shivered, and the action repeated, the tentacle rolling, the sparkling black surface unexpectedly erotic, his head falling back to rest on Marx’s shoulder. 

Marx was staring at him, an intense look on his face, the arm around his waist tightening as a tentacle reached upwards and gently prodded Ryoma’s lips. With a shuddering sigh, Ryoma opened his mouth, surprised when it tasted… Not bad, not at all fishy, softer than the texture of the skin, and even more surprised when he sucked on it and Marx’s entire body shivered behind him, lust flashing visceral in those beautiful, luminous, eyes. 

God, fuck him, it was hot. 

The way that pale skin flushed, how the tentacle touching his thigh wrapped around him instead, possessive. He relished in the way those sharp teeth sucked in his earlobe, how they nipped, the way Marx’s breathing changed. Ryoma even liked seeing himself get hard, and he really,  _ really  _ liked when Marx’s tentacle pushed further into his mouth unconsciously, forcing him to take deep breaths through his nose. 

In spite of himself, he felt his hips writhing, pushing back against Marx, who quickly wrapped another tentacle around his opposite thigh and held him in place with surprising strength. His lips moved to Ryoma’s shoulder where he very clearly began to work on leaving a mark, another one of his tentacles sliding upwards to wrap itself around Ryoma’s cock.

Just the touch was enough to make him arch against Marx, groaning against the tentacle in his mouth, Marx responding by biting down on his shoulder a bit too hard. Somehow, though, it only sent another pulse of white hot arousal through Ryoma’s entire body, and the way Marx soothed his lips apologetically over the bite… God… Had anyone ever been so fucking attractive to him?

There was no pause, though, not for Ryoma.

Marx’s tentacle had started to stroke him, but he was held so tightly against Marx’s chest that he couldn’t move at all. All he could do, all Marx would let him do, was groan, moan, and pant against the appendage in his mouth as Marx teased his nipples and stroked his cock at a frustratingly slow rhythm… One that was turning him into putty in hands far more capable than he had imagined even in his wildest, dirtiest dreams. 

His grip on Marx tightened further, watching as one of the tentacles teasing his nipple was replaced with Marx’s hand. 

**_Fuck._ **

He said the word, somehow, around Marx, his voice choked off into a much louder cry when the tentacle around his cock squeezed more tightly and temporarily increased pace. Behind him, Marx was rocking against his back and panting heavily, making small gulping sounds as his lips pressed frantically to every bit of skin he could reach, bathing Ryoma in kisses. 

And then the tentacles holding his thighs spread them farther. 

Ryoma turned his head, finding himself nose to nose with Marx as the tentacle in his mouth slowly drew away only to be replaced by his lover’s lips and tongue. The tentacle that had been in his mouth, wet with his spit, took to stroking the side of his face in a way that could only be described as loving, Ryoma moaning desperately into Marx’s mouth. 

“Please,” he begged when the man pulled away. “Please, please… Marx… I need you!” 

He didn’t even sound like himself, not even to his own ears, his hips twitching as best as he could make them as his thighs were spread even wider and a tentacle slipped down between his legs. It… Felt different, but not bad, slick and oddly hot, probing him, rubbing deliberately against him, more narrow than the other tentacles with a tapered tip. It probed, and then gently started pushing, easing into him a little bit at a time, as if teasing. 

Slowly, it thrust, and behind him Marx began to shake, his body tensing and relaxing with each movement, heaving pants pushing past his lips. And oh god -- Oh god it was his…!

Ryoma couldn’t push back, even though he wanted to, groaning and crying out each time the tentacle pushed farther inside of him. Marx still stroked him, still toyed with him, keeping him on the edge so that he felt like he might break at any moment, even as Marx himself was drawn more tightly into the web of pleasure between them. 

After what seemed like forever, Marx was finally completely inside of him, his lips moving in frantic shapes against Ryoma’s shoulder as gasps pushed past his lips. Tentacles wound over every part of his body they could reach, one of them pushing its way back past Ryoma’s hungry mouth, pushing in deep and staying there as the two of them bobbed up and down in the tank. Marx seemed intent to take it in for a second, Ryoma burning for how full he was, his entire body on fire even with the cool water lapping on his skin. 

Through the fog of his mind, he became aware of two things --

The first was that he wanted more of Marx inside of him.

And the second was that the shapes Marx was mouthing against his shoulder formed Ryoma’s name. 

Only a moment later, all thoughts vanished completely as Marx began to move his tentacles, fucking Ryoma’s ass and his mouth so deeply that he thought he could see stars. White nearly blinded him every time Marx pressed insistently against his prostate, driving him made with pleasure, so much that he didn’t care he was drooling. 

Noises pushed past his lips as his lover teased and stroked every inch of exposed skin he could reach, stroking Ryoma quickly enough that he was soon reduced to nothing more than a mass of pleasure. Never before had he been so close to someone, and he knew in that moment he could never have normal sex again, that Marx had ruined him for any other person… Because he was perfect, because he could touch Ryoma in places and in ways that no one else could. 

Marx--

He moaned the name around the tentacle in his mouth, feeling the appendage around his cock tighten to stop him from cuming as Marx pressed the one in his ass hard into Ryoma. It moved with speed and strength, leaving Ryoma to convulse around it as his entire body tensed with a dry orgasm, Marx biting down hard on his shoulder as Ryoma quite suddenly felt the tentacle inside of him  _ expand _ . 

It pulsed deep inside of him, and he was filled with warmth as his lover’s limbs slowly pulled away from him, supported only by Marx’s arm, still tight around his torso. Left to thrust his hips desperately into the tentacle still wrapped around his dick, his mouth now empty, he heard himself babble incoherently. His shoulder stung, and he knew it was bleeding, but he didn’t care -- God, he was still so hot, there was so much pressure, and he just wanted to -- 

He wanted to--

The thoughts were scattered as Marx spun them and pushed Ryoma back against the glass, guiding his hands to grasp the edge of the tank. It was difficult, but when Marx slipped underneath the water and spread his legs apart again, he somehow found the strength to hold on… Especially when he saw the blonde hair drifting between his legs and felt the tentacle leave him…

Only to be replaced with a hot, needy, mouth sucking him with unrivaled desperation, pushing himself so far onto Ryoma that Ryoma could feel the back of his throat. He pushed again and again, taking as much of Ryoma as he could, tentacles wrapping around Ryoma’s legs and hips to hold him in place and stop him from moving. 

Several times, he felt Marx gag around him, but he didn’t mind, not when he felt a hand reach out to fondle his balls, and then --

“Fuck! Marx! Marx!” 

He was coming, harder than he could ever remember coming. 

His head fell back, body shuddering, his grip on the side of the tank faltering as he began to slide into the water, only to be caught and supported by strong arms. 

And then there were fingers against his back, oddly cool, fingers stroking his hair, a body dragging him back towards the ladder and helping him lean against it. Kisses against his overheated skin, and then on his lips as this beautiful eyes gazed him with so much affection that it broke Ryoma’s heart. 

He lifted a hand, hearing the water move around them, trailing his fingers along his lover’s jaw. 

His shoulder ached and stung, his legs felt weak, and he was breathing hard but… 

“You’re so … beautiful…” Ryoma managed, watching more pink flush across Marx’s skin. “I think… I’m falling in love with you.” 

Those eyes went wide, but before Ryoma could say anything else they were kissing, and all he could feel was the velvet of Marx’s tentacles, holding him tightly, and the slow slide of their lips and tongues. 

Ryoma never wanted to be anywhere else again. 

 

**< >< ooo ><>**

 

He was sitting on the Blackwater’s couch, Elise slumbering against his shoulder one one side, while he listened to voices from the other room. Takumi sat at his other side, staring at his hands and occasionally stealing glances in Ryoma’s direction. Back home, Hinoka was holding down the fort and waiting to pick Sakura up from dance practice… which left him free for what Camilla and Leo had called a very important meeting. 

Two months ago, if you told him he’d ever care about these people at all he would have called you insane. 

They were entitled rich kids of the worst kind… 

But of course he knew that wasn’t true now.

He remembered every conversation with Marx, traced in fire on his skin. 

The truth of how much the Blackwater siblings had been made to struggle by their cruel father… And how he’d done something unforgivable to Marx. Ryoma had never known Xander, but he’d seen pictures and video and he could clearly see how happy he’d been with his family, even bound to a wheelchair because he was struggling with his slow transformation. That Marx could hold onto any hope that things would get better at all left Ryoma breathless with admiration, his heart trembling with the kind of affection he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel. 

And if Marx did feel that hope, it was because he could see that family again. 

He could hold Elise and Camilla in his arms, could brush his fingers through Leo’s hair, and even if he couldn't cry anymore… Even if he couldn’t speak… His hands trembled and his face shifted into unspeakably tender expressions. 

“They’re talking about whether or not it’s possible to reverse,” said Takumi quietly, his internship at the Aquarium three years ago the entire reason any of them had met the Blackwaters in the first place. “I still can’t believe you’re dating a fish man.” 

“Cephalopods aren’t fish,” Ryoma said, pushing gently at his brother’s shoulder, “you’re the one who had an interest in marine biology. How can you not know that?” 

Takumi made a face, but his expression quickly softened as his turned his attention back to his fingers. He’d spent so much time staring at them recently that Ryoma didn’t have to guess to know that he felt pity for Marx - a pity that Leo and Camilla both clearly shared. He knew that Marx wanted them to be able to reverse it, to go back to being the man he had been years ago, but… 

Ryoma didn’t think that was possible. 

Even if the effects could somehow be reversed partially, his entire genetic structure had changed -- Or so said Leo, who had spent a great deal of time with her elder brother, trying to figure out exactly what their father had done to him. They might be able to make some of it better for him, easier on him, but he’d never walk like a human again, and his digestion would certainly never be the same. 

At least Camilla and Elise had seen that he was eating something other than tuna now. 

“Leo has hope that his voice can be restored, at least,” Takumi said, then paused. “You have to let us meet him, Ryoma.” 

“Would you have even believed me if Leo and Camilla hadn’t vouched for me?” Ryoma asked, only for Takumi to shake his head. 

“You know I wouldn’t have, but… That doesn’t matter anymore,” Takumi asserted, finally meeting Ryoma’s eyes, his gaze more indomitable, more determined, that he could ever remember it being. “We can’t just leave him in that aquarium, Ryoma. He needs a bigger, better, place. He needs to be away from Director Blackwater.” 

Takumi went quiet and then dropped his eyes, a soft smile spreading across his lips, an embarassed one, “and I want to meet him because you care about him. It’s my job, Ryoma, and Hinoka’s… And even Sakura’s. We have to watch out for family.” 

Ryoma felt his throat grow a bit tight but swallowed past it for the sake of both of their prides and glanced away. All he could do was nod and smile as he looked down at Elise, who shifted more tightly against his shoulder… And if Marx couldn’t be here on this couch to hold her and comfort her, he would do it in Marx’s place. 

The thought left him to wonder how he’d managed to become this invested, and how it was possible that he had no regrets. 

“So they might be able to give him his voice back?” Ryoma asked quietly, not daring to hope it was possible; selfishly, he wanted to be able to hear Marx’s voice, wanted to hear what it would be like to be wrapped in those tentacles and secure in those warms, with Marx whispering against his ear. 

“Yeah,” Takumi said, his head hitting the back of the couch as he leaned it back to stare at the ceiling, “and that’s about the best news I can hear. I think… Whatever Director Blackwater did to him … It’s pretty permanent.” 

Ryoma nodded and soothed his hand over the top of Elise’s head, swallowing thickly as he realized that Marx’s tears were prickling behind his eyes. 

 

**< >< ooo ><>**

 

It was late at night, Ryoma sitting where he always did in the little lab, watching as Marx slept at the bottom of the tank. Normally he wouldn’t be so tired, but Camilla and Leo had just finished with the therapy to strengthen his vocal chords again and give him the chance to speak, leaving him exhausted. 

Ryoma didn’t mind watching over his rest, not when Marx had asked him to stay, but he knew he had to get home soon. Tonight was his night to cook and he couldn’t leave his siblings hanging again. He had to take care of them, especially Sakura, now that Mother and Father were gone. 

Still, it couldn’t hurt to finish up this last bit of homework for one of his online courses while he was here. If he was ever going to do better than this janitorial position, if he was going to make enough to support his siblings, he needed to do this. 

The only other skills he had were related to his time in the dojo as a kid and he was rusty.

Too rusty for them to be useful. 

When he heard the sound of footfalls against the stairs, he thought Leo might have come back, standing up to gather his things… But when the knob turned, when he didn’t hear any voice from the other side, Ryoma’s stomach sank. He felt the air in the room grow several degrees colder as it slowly opened and he pressed himself against the desk, hands scrambling for something to defend himself with. 

Something that proved intelligent when the door opened and a massive shape stood on the other side. 

Ryoma knew those hands from the footage of the MR4X experiments. 

Rough, large hands, attached to a man just as large -- So large that Ryoma couldn’t see the lights in the hallway behind him. Instead, he was silhouetted menacingly, flyaway white hair the only part of him illuminated as his sickly grey skin remained bathed in shadow, dark eyes shifting from confusion to enraged amusement in a matter of moments. 

He stepped into the room.

The door closed behind him.  

“What’s this?” asked a deep voice, purring menacingly, like a big cat with its eyes on its prey. “I don’t recall inviting guests to visit us.” 

Ryoma’s hands still scrambled frantically across the table, searching for something, anything -- 

But he didn’t fail to notice how the Director’s eyes flickered towards the tank, how he looked relieved that his pet project was still there. Fighting down a wave of disgust that this man clearly had no care for his son as a person, Ryoma scrambled to his feet and grasped the back of his chair as Director Garon stalked closer, one step at a time. 

Raising the chair over his head, he tried to strike only for Garon to grasp it and wrench it from his hands. A moment later he felt a kick to his stomach, listening to the sound of the chair clattering against the glass of the tank as he fell hard onto his back, hitting his head against the side of the table as he fell. 

He had no time to recover as he was dragged bodily by his collar across the concrete, was hoisted to his feet, and slammed into a stack of filing cabinets hard enough that he saw stars. His teeth clacked together painfully, vision swimming as he smelled the cigarette thick breath of the Director, who pinned him in place with one hand, the other wrapping tightly around his neck. 

Ryoma felt his windpipe being crushed, the sneer on the Director’s face all-consuming even as he scratched and scrabbled against the man’s strong arm, but he had no leverage, not when Garon lifted him even farther off the ground. And the man was so… So fucking tall… Ryoma couldn’t kick him… He… 

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was going to die. 

He was going to die here!

He struggled harder, but with each passing moment he felt his body growing weaker as the air was squeezed from his lungs. Tears stung Ryoma’s eyes, but it was all he could do, his eyes searching around frantically for something he could grab, something he could do, but… 

But all he could see was the fucking corkboard, with the stupid fucking newspaper clippings on it. 

The ones about cancer and the regenerative abilities of cephalopods. 

Black began to encroach on the edge of his vision as he gasped, barely registering the sound of frantic thumping from somewhere behind him. All there was was the stupid fucking newspaper articles, the sting of trying to breathe, and the feeling of Garon’s fingers digging into his flesh. He could hear humming in his ears, and then a might crash of glass shattering before suddenly he was falling to the ground, knees and palms hitting the floor hard enough to bruise. 

Groggily, he lifted his head, gasping and coughing, the world spinning with a sudden influx of too much oxygen as a great, black shape engulfed the massive Director Garon Blackwater in a sea of writhing, angry tentacles. 

Ryoma felt his heart skip a beat, his entire world spinning as he slipped forward, all strength leaving his arms. 

He watched, the black tentacles glimmering like a sea of stars, wet and glowing underneath the bright blue light of the fluorescent bulbs above. In their midst, Garon twitched and struggled and then began to slowly, surely, lose his fight and go still, his body becoming limp. There was a loud noise as the body was cast away, and Ryoma vaguely processed that the floor was now somehow filled with a small layer of water and that he was having difficulties breathing for entirely different reasons. 

That was, until a pair of arms lifted him up and his entire world was dominated by luminous magenta eyes filled with so much concern and fear that it broke Ryoma’s heart. Warm, gentle hands stroked his face again and again, grounding him to the room even as he felt himself slipping away into unconsciousness, feeling secure in these familiar pair of arms… Though it shouldn’t be possible.

Marx couldn’t leave his tank. 

“Ryoma,” a rough voice chanted again and again.

“Ryoma,” it muttered as the blackness reached up to take him into its silent embrace. 

“Ryoma,” it rasped in desperation, the last sound he heard as he finally lost himself. 


End file.
